"I am alone."

"Everyone feels they're alone at some point. And maybe they are. Is that so bad?"

He wipes his sweaty hands on a paper napkin bearing the logo of a Chinese restaurant. I imagine him eating there with someone, maybe even a first date. I imagine his eyes filling up with laughter while some girl with long hair tells him stories over kung pao chicken and cold noodles. 

"Which restaurant is that napkin from?"

"China hut. You've been?"

"No."

I am sitting in his living room, watching him watch TV. It's late Friday morning and the rains have bathed the city clean. But I don't like going out around noon because schools let out and the roads are filled with children and mothers and blue school buses that rush around the city depositing one knock kneed kid after another to his or her home. 

"I think I am not made to be by myself. I think I need to be around people, even if we are just sitting there silently." 

"You are more anxious about the thought than the actual situation. You've lived alone plenty of times and you always tell me how much you enjoy coming home to quiet rooms and roaming around in just your socks."

"Living alone is not the same as being alone."

"In that case, you're really not alone."

We're silent for a bit and then he stands up. He walks over to the other side of the room and starts going through a pile of clothes.

"I should leave, I forgot you have plans." 

"You're welcome to come with. As long as you like sci-fi movies."

"No, no you carry on. Have fun."

He turns and looks at me and I suddenly feel like I'm a bug under a microscope. Where he will dissect and analyze parts of me. Dry hair, funny nose, average chin. Regular eyes with a hint of fear. Subject seems nervous.

"What?" I touch my mouth as though checking for food between my teeth.

"Nothing."

"Why are winding yourself up, this much? Did something happen?"

"No. I told you. I just feel alone."

"How can you feel alone, when I am right here?"

"You aren't right here, you are on your way out."

"Okay. You're being a little dramatic. We spent the entire morning here. In this room. You said you wanted to talk, we talked, we ate muffins and we watched TV. Most people call this a pleasant time with friends."

"Okay. I am sorry I'm being dramatic."

He sighs. Audibly. Like he is looking for a non verbal way to tell me how this is trying.

"Please just go home, and take a nap. In the evening when you wake up, go for a walk or a cup of coffee or to a book store. You'll be fine. To be honest you're fine right now, you just choose to think not."

He leaves me standing in the middle of his room, and I knows he is right. Feeling alone and lonely and similar emotions are luxuries afforded to those of us with time and spare feelings to be allocated to non essential areas like these. 

When I get home, I fall into a long long spell of sleep and when I wake up, it is dark outside and dark inside the room. I hear voices in the distance but their conversations are gibberish. I walk through each room wearing long striped socks but the house is absolutely quiet. The voices in the distance had dissolved into silence.